Memento Mori
by Anamnesis Redivivus
Summary: Faramir discovers a young boy put under house arrest by his evil uncle. While uncovering why the their paths have crossed, he wonders if knowledge is power or if ignorance is bliss. Postlotr, one shot


Disclaimer: Fanfic…_FAN_fic...need I say more?

A/N: The premise? No one can live a lifetime, no matter how short or long, without ever falling in love. No one can ever know what one will become. Is knowledge power or is ignorance bliss? Centers on Faramir. Post-WOTR, movie-verse for consistent visualization of the face (Sean Bean and David Wenham, cough!), one shot.

* * *

Memento Mori

* * *

Life in Gondor after the War of the Rings could be described with just one word -- hopeful. 

The last few months had been quite eventful with the reconstruction of Gondor to its former glory and the restructuring of society and its beliefs. It was the long-overdue peaceful and bloodless revolution all of Gondor had been waiting for.

Aragorn had thrown himself into work soon after his delicious honeymoon with his beloved Arwen. They were the model for the perfect marriage and their happiness spread throughout the land like the pollen of a beautiful flower.

Others were returning to their old lives as well. Éomer was learning the trade of kingship as swiftly as Aragorn, eager to be a king his people could be proud of. Due to the hardships he endured along Aragorn's side, the friendship and loyalty between Rohan and Gondor grew stronger than ever. It was reflected in the aid they gladly gave to each other for the sake of restoration of the two nations.

Gimli and Legolas had certainly done their part in restoring Gondor to its full splendor. They had already convinced their own kinsfolk to travel down south in order to find adventure in business and pleasure. That is, as soon as things were in order in their own realms.

The Hobbits were long gone, but the people's curiosity about them had not died down. It was pity that the people of Gondor could not appreciate the Halflings' qualities firsthand, but tales of their bravery, loyalty, integrity, and humor were on the lips of every citizen.

Even Faramir had accepted his new status as the Steward of Gondor. Accepting the stewardship was one thing, but growing accustomed to it was another. Nevertheless, the last surviving member of the house went far above and beyond the reputation of Gondor's long line of Stewards and performed his duties so as to give the position more honor and dignity.

Although the people couldn't continue their old thread of life, everyone did their best to make do with what they had and were grateful for the future full of hope and possibilities. It was bought with much sacred and dearly cherished lives, but the survivors all knew it weren't all in vain. They were happy in knowing that this promising future was built with their own hands and determination.

-----

"This is a wonderful idea, Faramir," commented Aragorn. He took a look around as he walked beside his friend and Steward, catching every little detail as if to find some hidden treasure. An everyday scene like this one was something to be treasured, especially to Aragorn who never had a normal life. "Indeed I must know how my people live day by day in order to know what is their best interest. I love this idea."

Dressed in humble robes of plain brown and dark grey threads, Aragorn and Faramir walked through the streets of Minas Tirith as one of the people. Although their faces were well hidden under the hood of their cloaks, they wondered if someone would recognize them.

"What do you say to a drink?" Faramir suggested. There was a tavern a few houses down.

"I _am_ a little parched. Let's go."

As soon as they found a little table by the corner, the two of them began scanning the crowd. Although it was a normal tavern, Faramir was not used to the level of noise, untidiness, and other characteristics Aragorn was accustomed to as Strider. The Steward took a look around and noticed the happenings around him. It seemed all quite normal and agreeable. As a matter of fact, the ale was good and the music was pleasant to the ears.

The sound of flesh on flesh resounded just loud enough for him to pick it up above other noises. Faramir searched for a bar brawl, but did not find any. All seemed well, at least until a man towering over a boy caught his eyes.

The tall, portly man stood before the boy, his head hovering over the small lump on the floor. The boy was sprawled across the dirty floor, holding his hands to his reddening cheek. A basket lay on its side and its contents were rolling about on the dirty floor. The child was dirty and so were his clothes, his hair a little long and disheveled. His old clothes were tattered and mended here and there, almost as if they were rags. The little boy of perhaps eight years held back his tears as he rubbed his aching cheek.

"What in the King's name are you doing out here? I told you to stay in the back house and never show your face!"

The boy did not say anything, but he got on his hands and knees to pick up the things he dropped when he fell. Now Faramir could see his face and he held his breath--the boy appeared awfully familiar, but he did not know any children by the name of Dolenmir.

"I don't know why anyone bothers with you! I don't know why _I _bother with you! If you leave the back house ever again, I'll give you a sound lashing!"

The boy looked at the foodstuff that he got from the kitchen. He said, "I was told to get these for dinner."

The man hit the boy again on the back of the head. "Then go right out the back door! Don't show your face where people can see you! And for disobeying me, you're not getting dinner tonight! That ought to teach you a lesson!"

Dejected and downright indignant, the little boy began to walk away with the basket full of food he could not eat. Faramir tried to follow his path, but Aragorn called for his attention. He painfully tore his eyes away from the small figure.

"Faramir, I think it's time to move on. It will be meal time soon and I do not wish to make Arwen and Éowyn wait for us."

Aragorn seemed to have missed the little quarrel between the two unequally matched forces. Nevertheless, Faramir was not about to leave and just forget about this incident. Something about this boy perturbed Faramir and he wanted to find out about him.

-----

Faramir spent the entire noon meal time thinking about the little boy named Dolenmir. As the son of Denethor and brother of Boromir--and as the new Steward of Gondor--Faramir wondered about this child's bleak existence. His face…Dolenmir's face was constantly on his mind and would not wane.

Perhaps it was his face. His fine hair and clear eyes were all too familiar as if he had seen them somewhere. The strong jaw and broad shoulder were far beyond his wee little summers under his belt. Faramir could tell Dolenmir would grow to be a tall, stalwart young man. Although young, the little boy was physically built for some great destiny; which was all too familiar to Faramir.

What could Lady Fate have in store for this poor boy? Often low peasant boys never found the opportunity to rise above their rank through their skills and determinations, but would this boy break that history with his fierce eyes and resilience?

Whatever caught Faramir's attention was not very conspicuous to the busy Steward. He spent much time that afternoon trying to fend of thoughts of the unfortunate child, but he folded under such strange and strong pressure. Soon he could not perform his duties, however light they were, and found himself delaying all engagements and undertakings until tomorrow. He could not let this impede his daily life and responsibilities, for he was a Steward and everyone depended on him to do his best. This had to be resolved tonight so he may rest and continue his life as Faramir, the Steward of Gondor and Prince of Ithilien.

-----

Dressed in the well-worn tunic, leggings, and cloak he wore earlier today, Faramir went out on his own down several levels to reach the tavern. There were not as many people out and about after sunset, but it was still a busy hub of commerce and merrymaking. The lanterns and candles were lit, throwing their yellow and orange glows all about the streets. The Steward wove his way through the streets to avoid contact and familiarization with others. After a long walk about the White City, Faramir finally found the tavern he was looking for. And it was still as busy as it was in daylight.

Faramir ordered an ale and sat in the middle of the merriment to pick up bits and pieces of the conversations others were having. Most were either useless or he did not care for them, but nevertheless he listened in hopes of hearing something about the fate of Dolenmir.

It took half an hour before the little boy peeked from behind a door. Faramir took in every feature of his face and body--everything that appeared from behind the gateway. All were familiar, but he could not place a finger upon which aspect of Dolenmir's being intrigued him. He was so familiar, yet so alien.

Faramir saw an old man motioning for the boy to come closer. He handed Dolenmir a piece of bread. The hungry child wolfed down the bit like a ravenous creature and thanked the man with a graceful bow of his head. The old man stroked Dolenmir's hair as if he was his own grandson, then the child went into hiding again behind the door. Gazing after the hardy little being, the elderly man clicked his tongue and continue to gingerly munch the rest of his meager meal. Perhaps he knew the boy.

Slowly and cautiously Faramir approached the old man and asked if he did not mind him sitting down. The old man smiled and the Steward sat down, trying not to be obvious in his observance of the old gentleman. He seemed to be in his sixties and quite decrepit for his age. Most of his teeth were either gone or rotten. His clothes were well-mended but still old. Even his dinner was scanty with no meat or anything of nutritional substance. All that lay on his plate were bread, potato and beans. Faramir wondered how the man could part with his inadequate meal and share it with Dolenmir.

"May I ask a question or two, if you do not mind?"

The old man made a gesture with his free hand to ask away to his hearts desire.

"Who is that little boy you just gave food to?"

After washing down his food with a bit of ale, the aged gentleman stared at Faramir with a curious glare. "Why do you want to know?"

"I just wondered why he is hiding in rooms and not playing outside."

Managing to chortle a little with a hoarse voice, the elderly coughed and wheezed a little before answering his new companion. "Yes, the laddie ought to be rolling in a patch of green grass, he should."

"Why is the boy not doing just that?"

The old man cocked a brow at Faramir. The line of questioning was obviously suspicious, but the Steward could not help himself.

The younger man fingered his short beard as he tried to avert the suspicion. "I was just curious…I saw him being beaten today and wondered if his parents know about this."

"No, they don't," muttered the man before drinking a bit of his ale. "They don't know about the beating."

"You seem acquainted enough. Why don't you do something?"

There was a bit of anger and resentment in the old man's eyes as he glared at Faramir. "It's not as if I didn't try, _laddie_."

"That is not what I meant," Faramir mumbled as he tried to explain himself. "What I meant was that…"

"Look," the old man cut Faramir off mid-sentence, "I only knew his great-grandfather for a short while and that does not give me any right to interfere with Dolenmir's upbringing. I tried to convince his caretakers to raise him like a normal boy with schooling, but they'll have no such thing. It don't matter if he deserves better or not; they want him working and that's what he'll be doing for the rest of his life until he's old enough to run away."

In confusion, Faramir questioned the old man again. "His caretakers? Where are his parents?"

"You've asked enough questions, laddie. If you can't get Dolenmir out of this hell hole, then don't bother learning about him; it'll only break your heart."

The old man left a few coins on the table and left the tavern. Watching the limping figure disappearing into the darkness of night, Faramir was now left with a whole new string of questions he wanted answered.

-----

Faramir stayed at the tavern until it was very dark and tonight was almost this morning. It was not long before he realized that Dolenmir would not come out into the tavern tonight. Stealthily he snuck into the courtyard that stood in the center of the bit of land that contained the tavern and the back house where he presumed the owner and his family lived. He stood under a dark tree and quietly watched the vile tavern owner give strict instructions for the nighttime overseer. When all of that was done, the man trudged his way to the back house, cursing under his breath of the rude customers he had today.

Faramir edged closer to a window to get a good look at the living room. The fire was going strong and a rather sizeable woman sat mending clothes in a rocking chair. A cat lay on the floor, playing with the ball of yarn with its sharp claws. The owner was taking off his hat and coat as he asked his wife a few questions.

"Did you send Dolenmir to the tavern kitchen for some food?"

The woman nodded. "And it took him a mighty long time to do such a simple task. He's getting more unruly these days. Just today he broke that blue pitcher you bought me last year and he blamed it on my poor little kitty! He did not even say a single word to apologize! I lashed him a few times, but he still did not say a thing!"

The man sat down in a chair and put his feet up on the ottoman. "The little bugger had the nerve to show his face in the tavern. I ought to back up my words and whip that boy for good."

Nodding, the wife went on about her sewing. "I am sick of staying in this house just to keep an eye on him. He can't work in the tavern or the barn. He is no use around the kitchen or at home! Teach the boy a lesson or sell him off!"

"I will," muttered the man as he took out his pipe. "I will."

Before Faramir could hide, the door beside him opened with a bit of creaking. When he looked to his side, Dolenmir's face looked up at him with some shock of his own. They stared at each other for a while, then they heard Dolenmir's uncle shouting from the living room.

"Is that you, Dolenmir! What are you doing by the door!"

The child sullenly pulled his head back into the house and answered his dreadful uncle. "There is someone by the door."

There came heavy footsteps and soon the door opened wide with the uncle's plump face staring out at Faramir. The Steward could see little Dolenmir's face looking out at him from behind his uncle. Curiosity and anxiety were mingled in his clear eyes.

"Who are you and what do you want?" The uncle asked. He did not sound pleased to meet Faramir.

"I am…Faron. I am going around Minas Tirith to…find apprentices," Faramir mumbled. When it seemed that the plump figure was falling for his lie, he decided to go a little farther and attempt to whisk Dolenmir away. "I hear you have a young one."

"Where did you hear that?"

"Someone from the tavern. I think I saw the boy myself earlier today." Faramir waved at the child with a smile. "There he is."

Dolenmir's uncle shoved the child away from the door. "Apprenticeship for what profession? He's not very bright."

Dolenmir protested from behind the door. "Am too!"

Faramir smiled. "Well, I am a…blacksmith." He saw the twinkle in Dolenmir's eyes. He seemed very interested, but Faramir could not determine whether it was the profession or the prospect of escaping the despicable relatives.

Dolenmir's uncle seemed to be seriously considering sending away his nephew to become a blacksmith. That would mean that the troublesome youngster would be off of his hands for good. "Come in," he offered.

He closed the door after Faramir and sent away his wife and Dolenmir to a room far away. Alone in the living room, the two sat down to discuss a few things.

-----

"So, How old is your son?" Asked Faramir, accepting the cup of ale from the hand of Dolenmir's uncle.

"Oh, he's not my son; I have no son. He's my nephew."

Faramir pretended an astonishment as he continued his questioning. "Then where are his parents?"

The older man did not say anything for a while. Faramir could tell he was uncomfortable with the question, so he decided to divert the awkwardness away with a different question. However, the man opened his lips to speak.

"Dolenmir's mother--my younger sister--died two years ago."

Faramir felt something pricking at his heart.

"As for his father," the man drew out the word, "actually, Dolenmir's mother took that one to the grave with her."

Dolenmir's uncle cringed his face a little at having to admit the illegitimacy of Dolenmir's existence, the shame his sister brought upon the family, and the completely unwanted responsibility of raising the son of a stranger who was too cowardly to claim his child. All of the eight years Dolenmir had lived under his roof, he had hidden Dolenmir from all eyes and ears. The uncle considered him a curse that no one beside he and his wife should know about. What would happen when he became too old for confinement, he never thought about, but this blacksmith seemed to be providing the answer he was looking for. Now that he had undusted the skeleton from the cupboard, Dolenmir's uncle was determined to rid his hand of the curse once and for all; it felt good to get it off his chest, too.

"You see, my grandfather had a small farm about a day's ride from here," said the man as he gestured his hand towards the north. "My grandmother died about twenty years ago; my parents died of cholera _long_ before Dolenmir was even born. So, my grandparents lived with my sister and me for about five years until our grandmother died. The three of us lived about two years together until I--I'm six years older than Dolenmir's mother, by the way--moved to Minas Tirith to make some money and escape the poor farmer's life. Dolenmir's mother was about…say…thirteen then? No, twelve. She lived alone with our grandfather for about five years. Then this is where it gets obscure since I was away; I believe some lone traveler or hunter stopped by one night for food or something and ended up staying a night at the farmhouse. The man left the next morning and that was the last of him."

He took a break to lick the last drops of ale from his mug.

"My grandfather died about three months after the stranger left. I took over the farm, but I had to sell it because I had no one to work the earth for me--the tavern was doing mighty well. I took in my sister since most of our relatives lived far away. Six months after, Dolenmir was born!"

Faramir tried to put on a superficially sympathetic face, but all that came out was a frown. He lowered his face, hidden under the shade of his hood and hair. "You have gone through much," said Faramir instead, faking compassion for a man who did not deserve any.

"Yes," the man agreed, "you should have heard the gossiping when it became known that my sister was pregnant. Neighborhood housewives gossiped about who the father was and the situation that led up to such…embarrassment. Some said the man could have been a hunter, a soldier, or a traveler. Few wove some far-fetched tales of her indecency…or the man's indecency. The man had to be older, of course, but most liked to believe he was far too old--somewhere from five to thirty years older! I guess if I took my sister and grandfather with me to Minas Tirith, this matter could have been prevented. However, I would have been weighed down by them, just like when I lived at the farm. It was not my fault! It was my weak sister, my decrepit grandfather, and the intruder!"

Faramir felt disgust towards this man. To willingly leave behind a dying old man and a weak young girl to seek for riches to covet for his own… They might have been hindrances in his path to material success, but they were his family! His own flesh and blood! What would he have to say in his deathbed except for 'I left my sister and grandfather to the lowlifes and villains'? Then he dared to place the blame solely upon those he knew to be either vulnerable and powerless, or those who are immoral and lecherous? How could this man sleep at night trying to convince himself that he could not have done anything for them when anyone else could recognize that was a shameless lie?

There was no way he could stay here and listen to this man groveling to convince Faramir that he had done no wrong.

"It is getting late. I must be off," he muttered with a slightly trembling voice.

Dolenmir's uncle seemed to have not noticed the quaver. "I hope to hear from you again."

Faramir bowed his head, then left the backhouse in a hurry to get away from this place. Like a lone adventurer, the Steward of Gondor staggered his way up the streets, making slow progress back towards the Citadel where his beautiful wife lay asleep on the bed they shared.

-----

Faramir slipped out of his guise and threw on his silken night clothes. He took a long gaze at the sleeping form of the woman he married merrily. Éowyn's golden tresses appeared silver in the white moonlight and her porcelain complexion glowed like that of Arwen's under the night's bewitching illumination. The expression on her face made him smile and he soon crawled under the soft sheets and wrapped his arms around her gently so as to not wake her from her sweet slumber. However, she was roused to consciousness by her husband's tense arms. She sensed something was amiss, not to mention that he had been missing tonight for several hours.

"What is troubling you?" She asked.

Faramir kept silent. Éowyn turned around and met his eyes with an inquisitive gaze of her own. Her curious look won him over and he could not keep silent any longer.

"I met a little boy today…at the tavern Aragorn and I went to earlier. The poor thing is only eight and he is locked away in his house for a fault that is not his. He is alone and unloved; it was painful to look into his eyes."

Éowyn made an expression of compassion and tucked away a loose strand of Faramir's hair behind his well-shaped ear. "People do inane things sometimes. They learn through mistakes."

"But what of those who learn nothing because they believe they are righteous? What of those who have been swallowed by the waves of darkness and never resurfaced?"

"Have faith, Faramir," Éowyn whispered to his troubled face. "Not all are hopeless. They may be lost momentarily, but you and Aragorn will undo the wrong that had been brought into the world under Sauron's sway. You two will lead the people back to the light"

Faramir warped his face in disagreement. "You mean under my father's indifferent regime…"

His wife gently caressed his face with her delicate hand. "If it were not for Sauron's foul tactics and overwhelming powers, your father would have been a great Steward as you are about to be."

"Apparently he had always been this way even before my mother's death, according to my brother. My father was always the brooding, shrewd type; always locked away in the tower by himself. He would not have been any better even with my mother still alive and Sauron vanquished for good long ago."

"You do not know that. One cannot know what a man might have been and will be; just as you never knew what _you_ would become."

Faramir did not say any more upon the matter and just lay still on the bed. Éowyn moved herself closer to him and wrapped her arms around him. He shifted a little to accommodate to her arms, although they were all healed. The young husband could not help but be cautious with his precious wife's health.

"If…that is true, then there is a good possibility that the boy will no longer be the resilient and benign being, but become a witless brute instead."

Although Éowyn wanted to utter a kind lie to ease Faramir's heart, she could not help but tell the truth. "But it is not your duty to save him; only he can save himself."

The Steward smiled in his wife's sensible wisdom and embraced her. For a while they lay awake in each other's arms, but both soon drifted into their own little wonderlands.

-----

Thoughts of Dolenmir and his fate did not evanesce over the night. Faramir lay still while his wife left the room for the morning walks she and Arwen took together in the gardens of the House of Healing. In solitude, he reflected upon what he had learned last night and still wanted to find out.

It was horrid to think that anyone could keep a child locked in a house all day and every day of his life--especially his developing years--for merely being born. Dolenmir had done nothing himself to warrant such imprisonment He was no wrongdoer, but he suffered the shame and disgrace of a villain due to the death of his mother and the mystery of his father.

If anything, it was the fault of the mother and the father. Why did the mother not marry? Why did the father not come claim his own bloodline? Why did he not want to love his own son? Whether illegitimate, crippled, unruly, or…even second-born, is a child not worthy of the best love a parent can give?

Faramir had to rescue Dolenmir! Perhaps the fascination with the child lay in the absence of intimate paternal figure in his life. Faramir could not ignore such commonality, especially when it struck so close to home.

Knowing that he did not have any appointed meeting for several hours, Faramir once again put on his tattered cloak. As soon as he fastened the oxidized bronze brooch, the door opened and Éowyn emerged. She looked at him with curious eyes, wondering why a Steward of Gondor was dressed like a lone hunter from the wild.

"Does Gondor celebrate a strange holiday today or have you a secret life that I am not aware of?" Éowyn asked. She smiled as she walked up to him and fingered the worn hem of the cloak. She actually did not mind it so much since it made him appear more free and hardy than he did in silk and velvet.

"I just wanted to resolve something today once and for all," he replied, closely watching his wife's swaying motions. He ran his fingers through her soft golden hair and felt it warm like the rays of sunlight on a spring day.

"Would it have anything to do with the destitute little boy?"

Faramir nodded in a subdued manner and then kissed her forehead. She took a step closer and rested her face on his broad chest. She could hear his steady heartbeats form a delightful rhythm that made her want to fall asleep.

"I cannot let go of this feeling that fate arranged this meeting in order for me to save the boy. It could also be that there is something that I can learn from him. The point of the matter is that if I do not tend to this matter now, that boy can end up as a delinquent as a result of the lack of guidance in his life. I think I can at least give that to him, if not save him."

"What will you do to save him?"

"I will find him another home where he can be loved, not loathed. I am sure he would like that better than living with a heartless uncle."

Éowyn squeezed her husband with her arms and let go in order to look him in the eyes. She was usually the advocate of self-help and self-discovery methods, but in this case Éowyn could not undo Faramir's determination. He knew more about this situation than her and it was still a bit of an unfinished business for him. Even if the boy did not really need this, Faramir did--he needed closure and this was his only chance.

"Then I have nothing else to say," said Éowyn. She leaned forward to kiss him, then whispered, "good luck."

Faramir kissed her, then embraced her. Without further delay, the eager Steward rushed out of the Citadel on his steed to make better time.

-----

Faramir snuck into the courtyard by himself, leaving his steed by the front of the tavern. Long he looked through the window near the backdoor to find Dolenmir, but he seemed to have disappeared out of sight. However, the aunt walked into the living room and sat on the rocking chair with a bit of knitting things. It did not take her long before she fell asleep, leaving the house still and silent.

Faramir heard the front door open and close. The sound was that of small feet and he immediately knew that it had to be Dolenmir. Perhaps he was attempting to escape and have some fun. Faramir did not make his presence known right away, but decided to follow him until they were a safe distance away from the tavern and the backhouse.

Soon he caught up to the short-legged youngster and watched his movement from a few steps behind. The small but sturdy legs never stumbled or quivered, but made each stride with a quick and purposeful movement. His arms did not oscillate in idleness or careless, but moved very little and always seemed ready to come to its master's need. Dolenmir's movements were not those of typical children his age, but that of someone who knew where he wanted to go. Just like someone Faramir once knew…but couldn't quite remember.

It only took Dolenmir a few minutes before finally slowing down and turning his face. Faramir halted in shock and initially attempted to look as if he was not shocked by Dolenmir's actions. However, his attempt to appear nonchalant failed when their eyes met several times in the most uncanny fashion.

"You're the blacksmith from last night!" Dolenmir exclaimed. "Have you come back to talk my uncle into letting me go with you?"

Faramir smiled and nodded. "Yes, but first, I want to talk to you."

With a curious slant of his head, Dolenmir stared at Faramir. "Why?"

"Well, I would not take you if you did not want to go."

Dolenmir ran up to him and embraced Faramir's legs, for he could not reach higher. "Oh, I want to go, Sir! Please take me with you!"

Laughing, Faramir took Dolenmir's small and calloused hand in his own which was large and smooth. The texture was familiarly comfortable, but the size of Dolenmir's hand made him realize he had not held this hand in his own before. "Let's take a walk, shall we?"

-----

The two walked a very long distance as they conversed, reaching an area where not many people lived or passed by. The presence and feel of Dolenmir's hand gave the Steward a certain level of comfort that he had not felt in a while. Although the Steward had only known this boy for barely a day, he felt as if Dolenmir was a close relative he had known for a long time.

They talked of several subjects during their walk. It was mostly Dolenmir asking questions and Faramir answering them, but it was interesting to hear the boy talk. Having been a second-born of a very demanding father, Faramir missed out on some common childhood moments as a result of being in constant quest for love and approval of his stern father. Although Boromir provided the love Faramir was seeking, it was not quite the same as being loved by the man who gave him life. As they talked, Faramir felt that Dolenmir was beginning to trust him as a friend.

Most of Dolenmir's questions concerned things most children did not care for. Who invented the sword? Why was Mordor so close to Gondor? Was there anything beyond Middle-earth or was this all? What were stars made of? Who was King Elessar? Why did he come to Gondor's rescue so late in the war? What happened to the spirits of the dead? Why did some people die so young? …Did they do something bad or did they die because someone close to them did something bad?

"Why do you ask that?" Faramir questioned Dolenmir. The last three bit seemed a little strange for a child to be asking.

Dolenmir slipped his hand out of Faramir's and climbed up a relatively low stone wall to take a seat. The adult sat down on the top of the low wall and looked down at the child. From afar, the two seemed like a father and his son sitting down to enjoy the warm sunlight and the scenic view.

"Did your uncle threaten you?"

Dolenmir shook his head from side to side. Faramir let out a sigh of relief. It was more than ghastly enough that his uncle abused and neglected Dolenmir like a worthless being, but the emotional damage a child could have from receiving death threats was unthinkable.

"It…it is just that…my uncle says my mum died because I'm a wicked boy," Dolenmir finally stated.

"I am sure your uncle did not mean that…"

Dolenmir jumped in with a pitifully quivering voice. "I _am_ a wicked boy! I sometimes steal bread from the tavern when I am hungry, although I know I should not steal. I often fancy that my uncle and aunt would be arrested and leave me be!" He began fighting the swelling tears in his eyes, but he did not dare admit that he had tears by wiping them away. Dolenmir madly blinked his eyes to stop the coming tears. "I…I am glad my mum is…dead…so my uncle and aunt cannot say evil things to her to make her cry at night!"

Faramir embraced the tearful and trembling child, pressing Dolenmir's warm cheek against his chest. The boy tried to wiggle himself out of the embrace, but Faramir did not let go. He knew what it was like to be alone with one's own grief and sorrow; it was a cold, dark feeling that no adult--let alone a child--should ever go through. Dolenmir wanted to get away because his pride and dignity were being smothered by this man's kind embrace. Faramir held on because he could not bear to be the one to make Dolenmir the kind of child that he once was himself…until the day he realized that he did not need his father's approval because he already had his love. For Dolenmir, he did not have that second chance. Dolenmir's mother was gone, just like his mother Finduilas was gone, but from what Faramir could gather his father was also probably deceased. If Faramir let this boy go now, he would be responsible for Dolenmir's perpetual darkness--and that is precisely what he wanted to avoid.

"Just cry it out, Dolenmir. Do not hold it in; it will only hurt more if you do."

Dolenmir banged his little fists against Faramir's arms in protest. From his bosom came the child's muffled voice. "Let me go! Let me go…!"

"Dolenmir…"

He stroked Dolenmir's long hair and the child caved in. He cried his heart out, grasping Faramir's sleeve and pulling it closer. All of the sorrow and anguish Dolenmir had held in were let out through the tears and the sobbing. The child mumbled incoherent words as he wept, but Faramir could not make sense of it. He just rocked the little boy back and forth, consoling Dolenmir as if the child was himself when he was eight. It was like comfort himself and soothing all of the hurts accumulated over the years.

Dolenmir cried a good deal before reducing it to a mere sniffle or two. He sat in a little tight ball on Faramir's lap, listening to his heartbeat. Wondering if this was what it was like to have a loving father, Dolenmir clutched Faramir's waist tightly as if never to let go.

"I have not cried since my mum got sick," he said in between sniffling. "My uncle said boys who cry are spineless and pathetic. I did not care about that, but he then said my mum would not get any better if I cried."

The boy rubbed the drying tear trails from his cheeks and returned to his motionless state.

"Have you anything of hers to remember her by?" Faramir asked. It would have been hard for the child if he had nothing of hers. If she died two years ago, it would be difficult for him to even remember her face--if he had a little keepsake to remember his mother, the days would be easier to live through.

"My mum gave me this just before she died," he said. Dolenmir took out a little something from his pocket and handed it to Faramir, but would not let him open his hand to see what it was. "She said my father gave this to her before I was born, and that he was a kind, noble man. She told me to treasure it because although she had this _and_ me to remember him by, _this_ is all I will have of him," he murmured, "but she never told me who he was."

Dolenmir then lifted his hand off of Faramir's and let him observe the object. In actuality, there were two pieces in his hand. Originally, it used to be a very small wooden ornament whittled by hand. Just about the size of Faramir's thumb, the plain wood from the wild had been fashioned into the shape of a horn--a very familiar horn Faramir recognized…

'The Horn of Gondor…' Faramir felt his throat close up slowly as he examined the carving closely. All the details matched the real Horn of Gondor perfectly. Only someone who was in possession of it for a long time could replicate it to such perfection. What was more, there were a "B" carved on one side.

Dolenmir whispered, "it used to be one piece, but I fell down earlier this year and it broke in half. I tried to glue it together, but it would not stay."

Faramir's throat closed up and he tried to prevent tears from coming. The child was looking at his hand; his hand was still, but his finger slowly closed up on the two halves of the broken horn. Dolenmir recalled how his hand held the little carving after his mother handed it to him…how pale and gaunt his mother's hand was…

Dolenmir was Boromir's son and heir! There was no one else who knew what the Horn of Gondor looked like in such precise detail with the initial B. All along Faramir had been trying to figure out why he was so fascinated by Dolenmir, but it was this--he was of Boromir's flesh and blood. His fair hair with a faint hint of ginger and clear green eyes were an exact replica of Boromir. His gait, his determination, his physique, his resilience…even his smile and hands were so alike Boromir.

Faramir looked down at Dolenmir's resting figure with newfound vision. This child was his nephew; Dolenmir was the only offspring of the brother who had loved Faramir more than their father. This poor thing was the sole descendant of the brother who died in his stead in a place faraway without a last farewell…

Now Faramir faced an even bigger question than finding Dolenmir another home; will he reveal to Dolenmir--and the world--of his heritage and throw him into a deeper turmoil of identity crisis and bigger shame and dishonor of being the bastard son of the man who would have been the Steward? Or keep the child's legacy and birthrights hidden for the sake of Gondor and Dolenmir's stability? What would happen to Dolenmir and himself if it was revealed? Would Dolenmir be better off knowing his true identity? Why did the mother hide it from him? Perhaps the mother was right in keeping it from him; not knowing his father would be better than wondering if his father--the true heir to the Stewardship--abandoned him because it was a mark of disgrace on Boromir's name and conscience.

All Faramir wanted to do was to rescue Dolenmir…now he was in the position to either save him or destroy him.

Excited by the good feelings awakened in him by this man, Dolenmir rambled in an ecstatic frenzy. "I like you, Faron. I never showed this to anyone, not even my uncle; it was a secret between my mum and me. I think she would have liked you too. My mother--Nenoneth--was kind to everyone, even to my uncle and aunt when they were cruel to her."

Faramir nodded, but did not say anything.

"You…you are not my father, are you?" Dolenmir asked. He apparently had taken notice of the similar hair color and the unusual interest Faramir had in him. No one had ever taken such compassionate interest in him before.

"Sadly, no. I am not your father," Faramir admitted painfully. Now his heart was on the verge of tearing into pieces; should he say 'we should get going now' or 'but I am your uncle'? Wrestling with his heart and conscience, Faramir pondered what sort of social and political affects each actions had. He hated to bring such insensitive aspects into the dilemma, but the possibilities were there whether one would like to acknowledge them or not. Long he spent thinking about what was in Dolenmir's best interest. It was very difficult to even think about, but Faramir forced himself to think things through before deciding this boy's fate.

Faramir gazed down on the cloven wooden horn in his palm. He then gazed down on Dolenmir's fair hair.

He said, "your aunt is probably awake and looking for you. We should return before we cause more trouble."

Both got up on their feet and the Steward held the familiar hand in his again. There was a quickness of contentment in Dolenmir's bearing, but Faramir felt himself crumble inside.

* * *

A/N: To clarify, when Dolenmir said he "fell down earlier this year and it broke in half," he meant that he fell on February 26th of 3019 of the Third Age--the day Boromir was killed and the Horn of Gondor cloven in two. He just couldn't remember the date. 

I'm thinking of writing a prequel to this about how Boromir and Nenoneth met. I have the basic plot, but haven't started yet. Tell me what you think!

Dolenmir---"Hidden jewel"

Faron---"Hunter" (m.)

Nenoneth---"Water Giver"


End file.
